


Raising an Alien

by mrsfizzle



Category: DCU, Smallville, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Cute, Drama, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Secrets, Feel-good, Fluff, Gen, Sweet, baby Clark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25128676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsfizzle/pseuds/mrsfizzle
Summary: Jonathan isn't sure about this new little person his wife has insisted on bringing home after the meteor shower. He's in for more than a few surprises.
Relationships: Clark Kent & Jonathan Kent, Clark Kent & Martha Kent, Jonathan "Pa" Kent/Martha Kent
Comments: 74
Kudos: 72





	1. Don't Name Him

**Author's Note:**

> This story begins shortly before a scene in a flashback in 2x7, Lineage. It contains direct quotes from that episode. I own nothing. However, this will probably be the only chapter in this fic to use direct quotes.

It was quiet at the dinner table.

Jonathan had allowed his wife to take home the toddler they'd found in the field, and he sat with them while they ate—or rather, didn't eat. So far, the child wasn't responding to any of Martha's attempts to get him to eat anything at the table. Martha was cutting up his food instead of eating hers, and Jonathan was watching them instead of eating his.

He had no idea what he was going to do with this situation. He'd known Martha for long enough to recognize the look on her face. She was in a state of total denial about all of Jonathan's objections. She had made up her mind, and he wasn't going to be able to change it.

But he had to. He _had_ to find a way. They could _not_ raise an alien.

Martha sighed as her latest attempts to get the toddler to eat failed. "I guess he's not hungry."

Jonathan swallowed and said, carefully, "He might not eat Earth food."

"Or he might just be a picky eater." Martha stood from the table and went over to a jar on the counter, taking out a chocolate chip cookie. "Don't get used to this," she told the kid. "This is just because it's your first night."

The little boy looked over the cookie she handed over, then began munching happily.

"There, see?" She smiled at Jonathan. "We can start teaching him better eating habits starting tomorrow."

Jonathan breathed in to object, but Martha went on before he could get a word in.

"How old do you think he is?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know."

"If you had to guess?"

Jonathan shook his head. "He's not human. For all we know, his . . . species could age at a different rate. He could be a newborn, or he could be a thousand years old."

"I think he looks about three." Her brow furrowed. "He isn't talking. Most three-year-olds talk. Maybe we say he's two, give him a little time to catch up."

He just nodded, putting his fork down. It was a rare thing for him to lose his appetite, but he really wasn't going to be able to eat.

"What should we name him?"

He _had_ to stop her there. Once she named the kid, she was never going to let him go. "Don't name him. We can't keep him."

"Well, what do you suggest we do with him?"

Jonathan really didn't have anything to say to that. He would have suggested bringing the boy to the police station, but he knew Ethan wouldn't know what to do, either. There just wasn't a standard procedure for what to do with an alien who looked exactly like an adorable three-year-old human boy.

Jonathan needed some air.

"I'll be back in a few, I need to check on a few things. Make sure nothing was damaged in the meteor storm."

Martha nodded, but he could tell she wasn't really listening. She only had eyes for the child.

Jonathan grabbed a flashlight, stepped out of the house, and started making the rounds on the property, but found he wasn't really paying attention to anything he was looking at. As fixated as his wife's eyes had been on the child, his mind was far more fixated on the situation.

The police wouldn't know what to do if Jonathan told them about the spaceship. If he didn't mention the spaceship, and the kid continued to act normally, they wouldn't know the difference between him and any other lost child—they'd try to find his parents, and when that failed, they'd look for a foster or adoptive home. He and Martha had even been talking about the possibility of adoption, since they didn't seem to be able to have kids biologically. If they hadn't been the ones to find the kid in the field, and someone else had brought him to the station, Jonathan and Martha might have even been contenders to adopt this child.

And they'd have been raising an alien. God only knew where that child was from, or what he could do.

It _couldn't_ happen. Somehow, he had to make his wife understand. Once the alien fell asleep— _if_ he could even sleep—Jonathan would have a long talk with Martha, for as long as it took to make her see reason. He braced himself for a rough evening.

When Jonathan came back into the house, Martha had the little guy sitting on the floor surrounded by a pile of Jonathan's old toys from his own childhood. "Thank goodness your mother was a pack rat."

"Sweetheart . . . he's not ours to keep."

"I just keep feeling there's a reason he's here. He's exactly what I wished for in the flower shop."

"Hey." Jonathan sat down on the steps behind her. "Since when did Martha Kent believe in magic wands?"

Her hand caressed the child's face. "Since the moment I laid eyes on this little boy."

There was a knock at the door. Jonathan jumped to his feet. The last thing he needed was for someone to see the kid and start asking questions. "Get him upstairs. Hurry, go on."

He glanced back to make sure Martha had carried the child away

"Uh, just a—just a second." He hurried to the front door to find the Deputy standing on his porch.

"Evening Jonathan," Ethan said.

"Ethan." Jonathan's heart pounded.

"I saw what was left of your truck out on Route 17. I wanted to stop by and make sure you're alright."

"Oh yeah, we're, uh, a little banged up, but we're fine." Jonathan didn't want to leave Martha alone with the alien for too long. "Look, I—I'm sure there are folks who need your attention a lot more than—"

A scampering sound behind him. The toddler ran into the room, closely followed by Martha. Jonathan's mind raced—how was he going to explain this?

"Who's the little fella?" Ethan stepped into the house, looking down at the child.

"He got away from me," Martha said. "He's a strong little guy."

Jonathan tried to think of a lie quickly. "That's, um . . ."

"Clark. I thought my family name would make a good first name."

It was over. They were going to adopt an alien. Jonathan kept his face straight, but it took effort.

Martha kept her arms around the kid. "Deputy, I would like you to be the first one in Smallville to meet our son."

Ethan's eyes widened a little. Jonathan's heart sank further. No, there was _no_ getting out of this.

Martha went over to stand beside him. "Adopted, of course," she added. "Uh, we just brought him back from Metropolis this morning."

A wide smile broke out on Ethan's face. "Well, I didn't know you folks were planning to adopt."

Jonathan cleared his throat. "Oh, Ethan, you know us. We like to keep to ourselves, but it's been in the works for quite awhile."

Ethan clapped his shoulder. "Well, congratulations. It's nice to see something good happen in the middle of all this tragedy."

Jonathan kept his eyes on Martha, watching as she held out her arms to the child, and he threw himself into her embrace.

Ethan turned to Jonathan. "Well, I won't keep you folks any longer."

"Thanks for checking in."

Jonathan walked Ethan to the door, then closed it behind him. He returned to Martha, who had carried the child to the couch. He was now resting in her arms, eyes at half mast.

There was an apology in her eyes, and Jonathan found he couldn't be upset with her. Yes, she'd already made up her mind, but she clearly didn't mean to walk all over him, disrespect him, or force him to do something he didn't want to do. They'd both been caught off guard.

"Okay," Jonathan said, and he came over to sit next to Martha on the couch. He ran his hand through the little boy's hair, and the child's bright blue eyes opened for a moment before fluttering closed. "We're doing this."


	2. Don't Coddle Him

Over the next few days, Jonathan found that it was very easy to forget that Clark was an alien.

The child slept, no problem, but he woke up in the middle of the night, crying or running around or jumping on his bed or theirs. He ate human food, but turned up his nose at everything but cookies for the first day, preferring to drop most of his food on the floor and giggle. He ripped the toilet paper off its roll and streamed it through the house, pulled the eggs out of the carton and smashed them on the kitchen floor, and drew on the walls with his crayons.

On second thought, it wasn't so hard to imagine that he was an alien. Jonathan didn't know much about kids, but he couldn't imagine a human child being so much work to care for. And he couldn't understand how _anything_ so small could contain so much energy.

And for that matter, how someone so small could be so intent on getting himself killed. He climbed up on the countertops, and even managed to clamber on top of the fridge once, then he would try to jump off, and they'd have to catch him before he landed. He reached for electrical outlets constantly—Jonathan suggested they try slapping his hand away, but Martha insisted he was too young and delicate for physical discipline. Jonathan worried she was coddling him too much—if Clark was too fragile for a light slap on the hand, he was definitely too fragile for 120 Volts across his body, and that's what he was going to get if they couldn't keep him away from the outlets. Martha insisted they just had to keep a closer eye on him, but it was difficult when the child ran faster than seemed fair for a toddler, and never got tired.

Martha did most of the work taking care of Clark, but that meant she couldn't help out as much on the farm, and it meant the house was in a permanent state of disarray. Every time Jonathan came into the house, Martha's hair was disheveled, she was out of breath, her cheeks were red, and she looked exhausted.

On the other hand, Jonathan had never seen Martha looking so happy. She had been serious about wanting a child, and she hadn't been under any false impressions about what it would be like.

Jonathan wanted to feel what she felt, but he didn't feel like the child was his. Not yet. He worried about whether he would ever feel like Clark was his "real" son, and he even checked out a book from the library about adoption. It said that it was normal for those parental feelings to take time to arise, especially for adoptive fathers. Jonathan was trying to be patient with himself, but he was hesitant about letting Martha know how much trouble he was having.

But he helped as much as he could. He worked on legalizing the adoption, and he got up to try to settle the child down every other time he woke them up in the middle of the night—they took turns. He helped with potty training, which was the one thing that had been mercifully easy—it only took a couple of days. And on top of taking care of the extra farm chores that arose when Martha couldn't help him out, he helped her with indoor chores that had usually been hers ever since they'd been married.

He knew all of this should make him feel like a dad. Instead, it just made him feel tired. It didn't help that the kid didn't talk at all. Laughed and cried, screamed and shouted, babbled and cooed, stomped and clapped, but didn't speak.

" _Mama_ ," Martha said to the boy one morning at breakfast time. He sat in his high chair, a small pile of Cheerios on the tray table in front of him. It had been about two weeks since they'd brought him home. "Can you say _Mama?_ "

Clark blinked.

Jonathan sipped his coffee, leaning against the counter. "Has he spoken at all?"

"Just those little noises he makes. I haven't been able to hear any words yet." She turned back to Clark. " _Mama._ "

The child made a little gurgling sound.

Jonathan didn't want to say anything, but he wasn't sure the child was going to be able to speak. Instead, he said, "It's probably normal, sweetie, I'm sure they didn't speak English on his planet."

Martha turned back to Jonathan and put her finger over her lips. "Don't say that in front of him," she whispered.

"Say what?"

"You know, about his _planet_." She mouthed the last word

Jonathan set down his coffee mug. "The kid knows he's an alien."

"Shh!"

"Martha—"

"I want our son have a normal life, and he's not going to have it if he knows about where he came from. Yes, he knows now, but he's a toddler. He's going to forget as he ages, if we don't talk about it. Then we can tell him about it when he's ready."

Jonathan clenched his teeth. He knew she was probably right, and that even if Clark didn't understand them now, it was best to get in the habit of not mentioning where the boy had come from. Still, it felt so weird to avoid talking about the elephant in the room just because a toddler might be listening to them.

Martha turned back to the baby. " _Mama_ ," she tried again.

"Lara," Clark said.

Martha gasped and jumped up from the table, turning to face Jonathan. "He said his first word!"

"Lara?" Jonathan wasn't sure that was a word.

"Yeah. It's a name."

Jonathan raised one eyebrow. "Who's Lara?"

"I don't know." Martha's eyes widened. "Maybe she's his birth mother!"

 _What kid's first word is their mother's first name?_ Jonathan thought it, but decided against saying it aloud.

Martha shrugged. "Well, maybe _Mama_ is too hard to say."

 _'Lara' is harder_. R's and L's were supposed to be difficult for babies. Once again, Jonathan held his tongue.

Martha turned back to the boy. "Can you say _Dada?_ Look, see?" She took Jonathan's arm. "This is _Dada_."

He fought to keep from rolling his eyes. Even though the adoption paperwork was being finalized, he hadn't started thinking of himself as a dad. Not by a long shot.

Clark smiled up at Jonathan, the skin around his eyes crinkling. "Da da da da da . . ."

Against his will, Jonathan felt his insides go soft.


	3. Don't Leave Him

Jonathan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Can't you take him with you?"

Martha picked up her purse from the table. "I could, but it will be much faster without him. He tends to run away in the store."

"You can put him in the seat in the cart."

"He climbs out of it every time."

"Even if you buckle the seatbelt?"

Martha headed toward the door. "The seatbelt straps in the shopping carts are very flimsy, Jonathan, he breaks right through them."

That didn't sound right to him, but he hadn't seen it, so he couldn't argue. "Martha, I haven't—"

"You'll be _fine_ , Jonathan. You're his dad. You should have some time to bond with him."

Jonathan grumbled. He hadn't told Martha about the real reason why he'd checked out that adoption book from the library, but he could have sworn she'd figured it out anyway. "Look, I just need a little more time—"

"It's been over a month. He's talking now, enough to let you know what he needs. You can do this."

Her eyes met his. She was giving him that look that he usually loved—the one that told him she believed in him, that she was proud of him. Usually, it made him feel like he was on top of the world. Today, it was mildly annoying.

She reached up to take his cheek in her hand, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him. "I'll be back in less than an hour."

He sighed, watching her go, then looked back at the child in the high chair. At his son. He was still in his onesie pajamas. He was adorable, and somehow that made the whole situation even more intimidating. "So, Clark—"

"Dada." Clark held up both hands.

"Mama's gone to the store for a little while, so you and I are gonna—"

" _Dada!_ " He waved his arms.

The kid obviously wanted something, but Jonathan didn't know what. "What do you need?"

Clark wiggled his way out of the high chair and stood on the tray, legs bent and ready to jump.

"Whoa, careful there!" Jonathan caught him just in time, and set him down on the floor. "You can't fly, little guy." He should have figured that Clark lifting his arms meant he wanted to be picked up, but he was sleep-deprived and hadn't gotten to finish his coffee. "What do you want to do while Mama's at the store?"

"Play!" Clark scampered off to the staircase, where he climbed almost too fast for Jonathan to keep up. Jonathan was breathing hard by the time they got to Clark's bedroom. He went to the shelf and pulled out a puzzle box, took off the lid, then dumped all the pieces on the floor.

"Okay, we can do that." A nice quiet activity. He could handle this.

Clark pulled out another puzzle, and dumped the pieces from the one on top of the ones from the first puzzle.

"Hey, hey, one at a time!" Jonathan knelt down to start picking up the pieces. They were kids' puzzles with choke-proof pieces the size of Jonathan's palm, so they'd be easy enough to sort out, but he didn't want to spend the morning doing that if he could avoid it.

Clark giggled and pulled out another puzzle, dumping out its pieces.

"No, Clark, what did I just say?" Jonathan reached for the toddler.

Clark dodged his hands and reached for yet another puzzle, shrieking with laughter.

Jonathan stood and picked up Clark, tucking him under his arm so he could pick up the rest of the puzzle boxes from the bottom shelf and place them up on the high dresser. "Okay, let's do the ones we have out." He set the kid down on the floor.

"No!" Clark darted out of his room and headed for the stairs, bouncing down them so fast that Jonathan was afraid he was going to trip.

Jonathan tried to keep up with the child, but he was a few stairs behind the entire way down. He followed Clark into the kitchen and only managed to yank him back from an electrical outlet when his fingers were six inches away.

He knelt down in front of his son, looking him right in the eyes. "Clark, we don't touch those, we talked about this."

Clark started to run away, and Jonathan grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

"Clark, look at me. Outlets are dangerous. Do we touch outlets?"

"Yes!"

" _No._ We don't."

Clark giggled and ran for the kitchen counter. He climbed up onto the surface and reached for the cookie jar.

"No, Clark, at least wait until after lunch—"

But Clark already had the jar open and had started eating one of the cookies. He sat on the counter, watching Jonathan and grinning while chewing.

Jonathan sighed. "Okay. But just one."

Clark reached his other hand into the cookie jar and picked up another before Jonathan could stop him, but he held out the cookie to Jonathan. "Dada?"

Jonathan chuckled and accepted the cookie. "Thanks, buddy." He propped himself up to sit on the counter beside Clark. It was quiet while they both ate. Jonathan finished before Clark did, and he went to pour milk into a sippy cup, handing it to the boy.

"Okay," Jonathan said. "We're going to have to set a few rules, little guy."

Clark swallowed his last bite of cookie. "No!" He jumped down from the counter and ran off.

This time, Jonathan didn't make it to Clark until his fingers were two inches from the outlet. He worried he wouldn't make it in time the next time, and he didn't like those odds.

"I said _no_." He took Clark's little hand and slapped the back of it.

Clark's eyes went very wide as he pulled his hand away.

Then he started wailing.

Jonathan had no idea whether he was in pain, or just scared. He had _not_ hit the boy hard—his skin wasn't even pink, but he was young enough that it probably stung a bit.

"Okay, okay." He picked up the child and held him against his chest, rocking him gently. "I'm sorry, son, I didn't mean to scare you. I just don't want you to get hurt."

Clark kept crying. He buried his face in Jonathan's shoulder, and his tiny fingers gripped onto the front of Jonathan's shirt.

Jonathan rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head. "Okay, Clark. You're okay."

The boy sniffled, then wriggled away from Jonathan's grasp. This time, though, he didn't run for the staircase. He didn't run at all. He just toddled around in his pajamas, though he did keep away from the outlet.

"You want to go do those puzzles?"

Clark shook his head and wiped his eyes.

"What do you want to do?"

"High see."

Jonathan blinked. "What?"

"High see!"

Jonathan knelt down. "What's high see?"

Clark covered his eyes with his hands. "One! Two! Free!"

 _Oh._ Hide and seek _._ "You want me to hide?"

"You count." He ran off.

Jonathan put a hand over his face, but he peeked through his fingers. He counted aloud to ten, then raced up the stairs, following Clark.

He hadn't seen Clark go into his own bedroom, which left the bathroom, the guest room, and the master bedroom. He heard laughter coming from the master.

He glanced in the closet, then peeked under the big oak bed that his grandfather had made. The toddler huddled in the back, grinning.

"There you are. Come on out." He reached under the bed, but Clark scooted back further.

There wasn't much space, but Jonathan laid on his stomach and scooted under the frame. It was no use—he couldn't lift his head enough to see where he was going—

And then the frame lifted up into the air.

Jonathan jumped back, sitting up. He wouldn't have believed it if he didn't see it with his own eyes.

Clark held both arms over his head, carrying the entire bed, all five hundred pounds of it, in his tiny hands.

And giggling.

Jonathan broke out in a cold sweat.


	4. Don't Commit Him

Clark went down for a nap a few minutes before Martha returned to the house with groceries. Jonathan helped her unpack silently for a few minutes, still considering what to say to her.

He'd already called a medical researcher—he didn't give any details over the phone, but he'd made an appointment for later that day. Now he just had to convince Martha to actually bring Clark to the appointment.

Pieces were starting to fall together in his mind. Clark never got tired no matter how much he ran. Jonathan had heard that some toddlers had endless energy, but even the stairs didn't slow Clark down, and he climbed up to the top of the refrigerator with no effort at all. Martha had said the seatbelt straps in the shopping carts were easy to break—of course Clark had broken through them easily, with his strength. They'd had the same problem with his car seat, if Jonathan remembered correctly. And maybe he didn't need to have worried about Clark playing with the outlets. Jonathan also realized that the slap probably hadn't hurt Clark in the slightest, at least not physically.

Jonathan took a deep breath as he folded up the empty grocery bags. "Martha, have you ever noticed anything unusual about our . . . about Clark?"

"The most unusual thing has been how normal he is. He's an energetic little guy, but he's a toddler, so that's normal."

He nodded slowly as Martha put away the last of the groceries. "Martha, can you . . . can you come with me?"

Her brow furrowed, but she followed him up the stairs to their bedroom.

He gestured to their bed, which was a few inches away from where it had been this morning. "How much do you think this weighs?"

"The bed?"

"Yeah."

"Jonathan, what's this about?"

"Humor me."

She pursed her lips, looking it over. "A few hundred pounds? Why, did you move it?"

"No. Clark moved it."

Her eyes widened. "He pushed it out of place?"

"No, he lifted it."

" _Lifted?_ "

"He was hiding under the bed, then he lifted the whole thing over his head."

She took a step back. "Is this a joke?"

"You know me, Martha. Is this the kind of thing I'd joke about?"

Her mouth opened, and she knelt down, placing a hand under the front edge of the bed and pushing up. She couldn't even lift the corner. She stood, breathing hard.

"Sweetheart—"

"You were right. We're out of our depth."

Jonathan swallowed. "You were right to take him in, Martha, but we're not going to be able to do this alone. We need help."

She nodded. "Did you call someone?"

He half smiled—she knew him well. "I called a scientist."

"What did you tell them on the phone?"

"Nothing. Just that our adopted son seemed to have an unusual condition, and it might interest him. He was willing to make an appointment with us for this afternoon."

"Okay," she said. "What time is the appointment?"

* * *

The car ride was mostly silent. Jonathan had been right about the carseat, so Martha held Clark in her arms for the drive over while he slept, his little thumb in his mouth. Jonathan drove slowly and carefully. He didn't want to test the limits of Clark's strength.

They pulled up to the office, and Jonathan unbuckled his seatbelt. He looked over at Martha.

She caught his eye and burst into tears, clutching onto Clark with both arms.

"Martha?"

"They're not going to help us," she sobbed.

"Of course they are. They're more equipped to understand than we are, they'll—"

"They'll _keep_ him! You know if we do this, we're committing him to a life of—of experiments? He's an alien."

He squeezed his eyes shut. It was the first time she'd said the word in front of Clark, but that hardly seemed relevant anymore. It was ironic that the reason why they'd avoided the word was to give Clark a normal life. Normal was out of the question now.

"They're going to want to take samples, they're going to hurt him, they might dissect him."

"I'm not sure how much they'll be able to hurt him, Martha."

"We're asking them to study him! They're scientists—it's like you said, they'll understand better than we will, and they'll find a way. They'll figure out his weaknesses, and—"

"We won't let them do anything to him that we don't approve of."

"You think we'll be able to stop them?" Her tears dripped into Clark's hair, though he didn't stir. "They'll find out the truth about his adoption. If we walk through those doors, we'll never see him again."

Jonathan faced forward in his seat and gripped onto the steering wheel with both hands. "Okay. What do we do?"

"I don't know! But we can't lose him, Jonathan, he's our son."

"He could kill us. First tantrum he has, he could kill us without even meaning to."

"I don't think he would. He's been upset already, but he's never lashed out at me."

"But it could still happen."

Her grip on him tightened. "I'm willing to die for him."

Jonathan hung his head. He knew in that moment that he would be willing to do the same. He reached over and tousled the little boy's hair, kissing him on the forehead.

"Jonathan?"

He straightened up and turned on the car. "Let's go home," he said.

Martha let out a laugh, though tears still streamed down her cheeks. She reached across to cradle Jonathan's face in her hand, then leaned over to kiss him.

As they drove away, Jonathan couldn't help but feel that he was making the biggest mistake of his life. But when he glanced over to see Clark stirring in Martha's arms, his bright blue-green eyes blinking and peering up at Jonathan, he knew it was the best mistake he could ever make.


	5. Don't Neglect Him

The medical researcher accepted Jonathan's explanation about Clark's condition having been a misunderstanding easily enough, and that door was closed. Now they had to figure out how to raise an alien toddler with supernatural strength and, if not supernatural speed, at least a lot more speed than a toddler should have.

Most of the work still fell to Martha, for which Jonathan felt both thankful and guilty. During his first weeks in their home, Clark didn't have much of a rebellious streak—he was mischievous, but good-natured.

After a month, though, he started going through phases. Jonathan couldn't have said whether they were alien phases, or normal toddler phases. It didn't matter. He wouldn't have known how to deal with either.

* * *

First was the nightmares.

A few months after the adoption, Clark started waking up around two or three in the morning every night, screaming like he was being murdered, face red and coated with tears. He couldn't describe what the dreams were about. He vaguely talked about loud noises, and darkness, and pain. Jonathan wondered if he was remembering his trip over in the spaceship. The space that had held him had been fairly small; he might have been jostled enough that it would hurt him.

It wasn't even just nightmares. Sometimes he'd start crying loudly in the middle of the night, and when Jonathan came to check on him and ask if he had had a nightmare, he would shake his head, tears and snot running all down his face, and just say, "I'm scared, Daddy." Jonathan would try to ask him what he was scared of, and he'd bury his little face in Jonathan's nightshirt, his whole body trembling, and refuse to answer.

Jonathan and Martha took turns looking after him. Jonathan learned to sleep just as soundly on the couch with the toddler in his arms as he had slept in his own bed. Sometimes he would see Martha asleep with him in a similar position, though Clark also seemed to sleep well on the couch beside her with his head on her lap.

But his fears carried forward into daytime as well. He was afraid of fire, heights, the dark, loud noises, tight spaces, farm machinery, and even some of the animals. It seemed ridiculous to Jonathan that a person who had the strength and resilience of ten grown men could be afraid of anything, but as Martha liked to point out, a toddler's fears weren't about logic.

They had to try to strike a balance between shielding him from the things he was afraid of, and helping him to face them. They bought him a nightlight for his room, but they didn't let him sleep with the lights on. They eased him closer to the animals, little by little, until he started to learn that he didn't need to fear them. They taught him to imitate and laugh at some of the loud noises the equipment made—a plan which, of course, backfired on them terribly.

Other than that, there was nothing they could do for him but wait until the fears settled. It was healthy for him to have some fears, since they would keep him from either getting hurt, or showing off to too many people that he couldn't be hurt.

* * *

Though mischievous at times, Clark was sweet and compliant enough that they avoided the terrible two's and three's, for which Jonathan was incredibly thankful. With his abilities, there was simply no way to make the child listen if he didn't want to.

And shortly after he turned four, he decided he didn't want to.

They couldn't carry or coax him to go anywhere he didn't want to go, couldn't convince him to do anything he didn't want to do. It was physically impossible. When he was defiant, they couldn't enforce a time-out or a restriction. They once buckled him into his car seat to get him to sit still, and he'd torn through the straps; another time, they locked him in his room just to make him stay, and he ripped off the doorknob. Positive reinforcement wasn't even an option: his strength and speed made him the perfect thief, and if they ever did manage to withhold anything from him, his tantrums rocked the house.

Martha was brought to tears of frustration on multiple occasions, and once or twice, that had an effect on Clark. Despite his recent determination to have his own way, he wasn't exactly a _bad_ kid, and he clearly didn't want to cause his mother distress. But he was also a toddler, and she couldn't start crying every time she wanted him to do something. Even if it did work now, it wouldn't when he grew too angry with her.

A few times, when all else failed, Jonathan put an abrupt end to Clark's misbehavior by slapping his hand, or by threatening to do so. It only worked because deep down, Clark was still young enough to want to please. A sharp voice wasn't enough to make Jonathan's displeasure sink in, but a slap was, even though it didn't hurt—Clark broke down crying every time. Jonathan was careful about it, though, in part because there was a fine line between discipline and abuse even for a child who couldn't feel pain, and in part because the one time Martha saw him do it, she shed more tears than Clark did. As for Jonathan himself, he was pretty sure he'd never hated anything more than he hated making his son cry.

The more Clark matured, though, the more effective it became to simply come alongside him and talk to him about how to behave rather than try to coerce him. It began with the child showing empathy for the animals on the farm, and then he began to show more compassion toward his parents as well.

Even at that, it was a struggle all year. There were good days and bad days, good weeks and bad weeks. Ultimately, what saved them was connecting the dots between what made the good weeks good, and what made the bad weeks bad. When Jonathan let his work slip behind and spent time interacting with Clark, playing with him and reading to him and talking to him, Clark behaved. When Jonathan neglected Clark, he acted up, and Jonathan ended up having to take time away from work to discipline and scold him. Because of this, Jonathan ended up falling behind on chores the same amount each week, whether he did so intentionally or not.

So he taught Clark how to do some of the farm chores. With his powers, Clark could get them done in a tiny fraction of the time it would have taken Jonathan, and the time he saved, Jonathan spent with his family.

One saving grace throughout all of this was that their fears about Clark's tantrums being dangerous for them came to absolutely nothing. He punched walls from time to time, but he never hit people, and he was careful not to run into anyone when he used his speed. One evening, he accidentally slammed his hand against his mother's knee as he passed her—the pain in her eyes lasted only a moment, but Clark apologized and kissed the place where his hand had struck. He went back to playing, but came back to apologize again and gently pet her knee every thirty seconds. When this behavior went on for several minutes, Jonathan had to leave the room to keep himself from laughing aloud.

* * *

Then Clark turned five, and entered into a phase that, Jonathan was convinced, could be his undoing.

He was starting to become aware of his powers, noticing he could do things that other people couldn't.

And he loved to put on a show.


	6. Don't Lose Him

For three years, the Kents had never been able to hire a baby sitter. Every time they tried to work up the nerve to let even one person in on their secret, just to give them an evening away, they balked at the last minute. It wasn't worth risking Clark's life. They couldn't go months or years without interaction with any other adults, so they sometimes had guests over after Clark went to bed, but they didn't allow Clark to interact with anyone for longer than a few minutes. The risk was too great.

But they'd recently celebrated his fifth "birthday." In a couple of months, he was going to have to go to school. He needed to meet kids his own age—keeping him hidden away from everyone in the name of giving him a "normal life" made no sense at all.

Martha called the Abigail Ross and set a time for a playdate on Saturday afternoon, since their son Pete was around Clark's age. Jonathan and Martha promised each other they wouldn't cancel the playdate, no matter how nervous they became.

That Saturday, Jonathan came into the kitchen after the early morning chores to find Clark lifting a table over his head. "Daddy, look!" He threw the table across the room, then ran over to catch it before it could land. "Tadaa!"

Martha smiled and said, "He's getting to be so strong."

Jonathan was less impressed. "Have you talked to him about throwing things in the house?"

"I was going to, but his aim is perfect, sweetie. He never drops or breaks anything."

"That's not the point."

She winced. "I know, but I already have to tell him to be careful about so many things. It's just nice for him to be able to enjoy his abilities, I don't want him to grow up being afraid of himself."

Giggling interrupted their discussion. Jonathan glanced down to find Clark with a paperclip in his hand. He'd stuck it into the outlet, and he was laughing.

So that settled that question. He was invulnerable to electricity. Jonathan let out a sigh of relief, but his heart started to pound again when he realized that it was still dangerous, in a completely different way. There would be no explanation for why he could survive sticking his finger in an outlet, if anyone happened to see him do it. And if he touched anyone else while he touched the outlets, they could be electrocuted. Besides, he had told Clark not to touch them.

Jonathan knelt down beside the boy, careful not to touch him. "Drop it."

Clark looked up at Jonathan, letting go of the paper clip. "Sorry! Sorry!"

Jonathan picked up his son and brought him over to the couch, sitting him on his lap. It had been years since they'd had to discuss this; he wasn't even sure if Clark remembered. "What does Daddy say about touching outlets?"

"No touching it?" Clark said softly.

"What were you just doing?"

"Touching it." He hung his head.

"What's going to happen if you do it again?"

His little brow furrowed. "Be in big trouble?"

"That's right." Sometimes, he found being less specific was better. "I have to talk to you about something. You're going to meet a friend today."

"Friend?"

"Yeah. Pete. He's a boy your age who lives nearby. You're going to play with him today."

"Yay!" He clapped his hands. Jonathan figured he didn't have any way of understanding the concept of meeting a child his age, but he liked playing.

"So . . ." He tried to think of how to phrase this. He didn't want Clark to fear his powers, and he didn't want him to think he was in danger, but he also needed to make sure Clark wouldn't spill his secrets to anyone. "You know how you can do things Mommy and Daddy can't do?"

"Climb on the fridge?"

"No, like lifting tables and throwing them across the room and catching them."

"Bein' really fast?"

"Yes. And strong."

"I like bein' strong."

"I like you being strong, too." Jonathan tousled his son's hair. "But you can't tell your new friend about your strength and speed. It's a secret."

"Secret?"

"Yeah. Like that necklace Daddy bought Mommy, but we couldn't tell her about it until Christmas."

"We can tell Pete I'm strong on Christmas?"

"No. We can't tell him at all. You can't tell _anyone_ except Mommy and Daddy."

"Why not?"

"Because . . . it's a secret."

"Why?"

"Because that's how it is." He had no idea how else to explain it to a five-year-old without scaring him. "Do you understand?"

Clark just blinked.

Jonathan sighed. "You're going to be in big trouble if you tell anyone. Do you understand now?"

Clark's lower lip trembled, and he nodded.

Jonathan pulled Clark into a hug, then set him down on the floor.

* * *

For the first few minutes of the visit, Jonathan could almost convince himself things were going to be fine.

Clark was clearly thrilled to be able to play with another child his age. They ran around the living room shrieking with laughter. Jonathan didn't even worry when they started to rough house—he knew how careful Clark was, and even if he won every wrestling match, Pete would probably be used to that, as the youngest of five kids.

Pete suggested a race around the living room, and Clark was about to join in, when Jonathan cut them off. "No running in the house," he said.

"Can we go outside, Mr. Kent?" Pete asked.

"Not right now," Jonathan said, but he wasn't sure what he'd tell them later.

"Okayyyy." Pete kicked a ball lightly, and it rolled under the couch. He toddled over to reach under the couch, trying to get it out, but it was too far back. "Awww."

"I can get it!" Clark sped over to the couch, and before Jonathan could say anything, he started to lift it.

"Clark!"

Clark dropped the couch. He'd only lifted it a couple of inches, and Pete had been looking away, so the damage was narrowly avoided.

Jonathan's heart raced. It had been a close call. Too close, and punishing Clark wouldn't be enough in the long run; Clark would eventually just try to avoid being caught by his parents. And Jonathan couldn't be watching every minute of every day. He couldn't follow Clark to kindergarten.

He had to do what was necessary to keep his son safe. Clark had to understand the truth.

"Come talk to me in your room."

"Sorry!"

"Let's go."

He picked up Clark, walked him up to his bedroom, and shut the door behind himself, then set him down in the center of the room and knelt in front of him, gripping his shoulders tightly. "What were you about to do in there?"

"Sorry! Sorry!"

"Didn't I tell you you would be in big trouble if you showed anyone your secret?"

"Dooon't!" He put his hands behind his back. " _Sorryyy!_ "

Jonathan was startled, again, at how much his child feared a punishment he couldn't feel. "You're not going to be in trouble with me, Clark, you're going to be in trouble with the bad scientists."

"B-bad scientiss?"

Jonathan swallowed hard. He couldn't believe he was about to tell his five-year-old child all of this. This kid had spent a year of his life having nightmares every other day. But better for him to have nightmares in sleep than in real life. "Yes. Some scientists study people who are different. If anyone finds out your secret, the bad scientists will find out, and they'll study you."

"Why study?"

"To find out why you're different." He almost left it at that, but he _had_ to make sure Clark would never forget this. Once he knew what to fear, a normal life would be out of the question for him, but he could still be safe. Jonathan tightened his grip on Clark's shoulders. "They'll poke you with needles and inject you with chemicals and take your blood, and they'll cut you open with knives and put tubes into you, and make you drink poison."

" _Nooo_." Tears streamed down Clark's face.

"They'll make you run through mazes, and they'll shock you and hurt you. They'll lock you up in a cage in the dark, and they'll never let you play or go outside or meet any new friends, and you'll never see Mommy and Daddy again."

Clark burst into hysterical crying, burying his face in his hands.

Jonathan was traumatizing his son. He knew he was doing it, but he couldn't stop it. This _had_ to be done. His eyes stung. "Do you want that to happen? Do you want to get taken away and cut open and never see us again?"

" _Nooooo!_ " Clark threw himself forward and pressed himself into Jonathan's shirt. "Don't let them take me, Daddy!"

Jonathan placed a hand on the boy's head, and he cleared his throat. "I won't be able to stop them. If anyone finds out about your strength and speed, they'll take you away from me."

"I won't show anyone! I promise!"

Jonathan gathered his little boy into his arms and held him to his chest as tight as he could, much tighter than he could have held Martha without hurting her. His heart broke for the cruel reality that was the world to which this alien boy had been exiled, a world that wouldn't hesitate to hurt and destroy him because he was different. The boy shook with sobs against his father.

Jonathan pressed his face into the side of his son's head. "I love you, little guy." His voice cracked.

"Love you Daddy," Clark choked through his sobs. "Don't let them take me. _Please._ "

"I won't let them. I love you so, so much . . ." Jonathan's own tears dripped into the child's soft hair.

When Clark's crying had reduced to sniffles, Jonathan loosened his grip, then let go of his son, brushing his son's tears away before wiping what remained of his own.

"Okay, son. Ready to play with Pete again?"

Clark nodded.

"You're going to go down there and tell him you said a bad word, and I yelled at you until you cried."

"Why?"

"Because if you tell him the truth about why I brought you up here, he'll find out your secret, then the bad scientists will find out."

Clark's eyes widened. For a moment, Jonathan thought he was going to start crying again, but he only nodded.

"Okay, little guy." Jonathan kissed his son's forehead, then stood, patting his back. "Be careful. But go have fun."

Clark smiled, and ran out of his room.

Jonathan let out his breath. For the first time since he'd found out about Clark's powers, the thought of sending his child to kindergarten didn't give him a heart attack. It was an unfair trade—easing his own fears by passing them along to his five-year-old son. But at least this way, he'd be safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! This is the end of the story I had planned, so I'm marking it complete. That said, I see that some people are reading this, and I like writing baby!Clark stories, and no one else seems to be writing any right now, at least as far as I can find on FFN and AO3.
> 
> So I propose a deal. If you do want to see another chapter of this, send me a PM or drop a comment requesting to see more. I owe this story at least one additional chapter per user who requests an extension, to be posted within 3 months after the request is made. Deal is good until August 2021. You can suggest a particular scene, but no guarantees on that part. And if no one requests it, I will quite happily keep myself just as busy with my many other projects :)


	7. Lana's House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For distanceincrowdedrooms :)
> 
> Since I'm expanding past the main story at this point, the chapter titles won't follow the same format as the first six.

Jonathan and Martha made an effort to let Clark play with Pete at least once a week. Jonathan didn't want them to play unsupervised, but if Pete noticed there was anything strange about the fact that they were never allowed to play alone, he didn't say anything.

About a week before the first day of school, Martha expressed her concern that Clark had only ever met one other child his age.

"Do you think he's ready to meet someone else?" Jonathan asked.

"Do you think he'll be ready for _kindergarten,_ if he's only met three people in his life?"

Jonathan grimaced. "Who did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking about taking him next door," Martha said.

"To Nell's?"

"Yeah. Lana's around his age."

"How old is she?"

"Six. But she's just starting kindergarten this year. I guess she had a tough adjustment period, after her parents . . ."

Jonathan nodded slowly and glanced into the living room, where Clark pushed one toy car into another and giggled. "We could always start him a year late, too. We could say we don't think he's ready."

"He's already taller than most kids his age. I'm sure he was older than two when we picked him up, which means he's already older than five now."

"It doesn't matter. Keeping his secret is more important."

"It's important because we want him to have a normal life. If we shelter him from everything, he won't have that."

Jonathan frowned. "Holding him back from kindergarten for _one_ year—"

"Would be a slippery slope. And you know it." She took his hand. "He's already registered, and he's excited."

Jonathan didn't want to admit how much sleep he'd lost worrying about Clark. He'd expected to worry about a child if he had one, since the farm equipment could be dangerous, but he found he didn't really have to worry about his son's physical safety—Clark was already strong enough to lift a truck partway, and it seemed like he was only getting stronger with each passing day. Instead, Jonathan worried about someone finding out the truth. And while he could keep a close eye on a toddler playing around the farm, he couldn't follow his child everywhere to make sure he never let anything slip.

Still, they took him next door later that day. Nell and Martha went into the kitchen to chat, and Jonathan was left to supervise the kids. He was fine with that—Nell was always trying to flirt with Jonathan when she was alone with him.

The first thing Lana did was to run over to a shelf and try to pick up a big cardboard box. She struggled with it for a moment before looking back at Clark and saying, "Can you get it?"

Clark's eyes went wide, and Jonathan's heart pounded. Lana probably wouldn't notice anything was off about Clark just because he could lift a box . . . would she?

Clark toddled over to the shelf and pulled at the box. Jonathan could tell he wasn't really putting any effort in. "It's really heavy." Clark turned to face Jonathan. He tried to wink, but it came out as a blink. "Daddy, can you help?"

Jonathan's heart swelled with pride, and he got up to pick up the box and set it on the floor.

"Yay!" Lana pushed it over on its side, and big Legos spilled out all over the floor. "I'm gonna make a castle!"

"I'm gonna make a spaceship!"

Jonathan smiled—Martha had been right to keep Clark's origins away from him. Jonathan didn't have to worry about him accidentally sharing where he was from, and he could talk about spaceships and aliens the way any other kid would.

Lana plunked down on the floor, and Clark sat down a few feet away from her. She hadn't gotten any further than sticking two bricks together when she jumped to her feet again. "I wanna show you something!"

"Okay."

Lana raced out of the room toward where the bedrooms were, and came back with a little green piece of rock. "This is from the meteor that killed my parents."

"Your parents died?"

"Yeah." Lana sat down next to Clark and set the rock on the floor in front of him. "They're going to make a necklace out of the rock, so I can always remember them."

Clark started whimpering, and Jonathan didn't blame him. It sounded horrible to him.

"It's okay. It was a long time ago."

"Oww . . . _Owwwwww!_ "

Jonathan hurried over to face his son, whose face had turned red. "Clark, are you alright?"

"No!" He pushed himself up, but tripped over his feet on the way up and landed on his hands and knees. He screamed—one knee had landed on the corner of a lego.

"Okay, okay." Jonathan had _never_ seen Clark like this before. Clark didn't even get so much as an upset stomach when he ate too much.

Jonathan knelt down and picked him up, sitting him up on the carpet. The lego he'd landed on fell away from his leg, leaving a deep dent and a little trail of blood in its place.

Martha raced into the room and knelt down in front of Clark. "Baby, are you okay?"

"He's bleeding," Jonathan said. "Does Nell have a first aid kit?"

"I—I'll find out." Martha jumped back up and ran.

"Is he okay?" Lana said in a small voice.

" _It hurts!_ " Tears streamed down Clark's face, and his muscles tensed. His face was red, but Jonathan could have sworn his hands and arms looked greener than usual.

"Hang on, little guy, Mommy's coming back, she'll make it better." Jonathan ran his hand through Clark's hair, hoping to calm him—it wasn't a serious injury, even if it was the worst he'd ever seen Clark get hurt—but then he remembered that Clark had been complaining about the pain before he'd even been injured. "Where does it hurt?"

"My knee . . . tummy . . . head . . . arms . . . _everywhere_." He sobbed and curled up on the floor in fetal position.

Jonathan's blood ran cold. What if this was some kind of sudden-onset alien sickness? They couldn't take him to an emergency room. They couldn't do anything for him. He could be _dying_ , and they wouldn't know it. Or it could be fairly minor, and he was just reacting this way because he wasn't used to any pain at all. There was no way for them to know.

Martha hurried back into the room and knelt beside Jonathan. "Show me, baby."

Clark moved his leg just slightly, and she turned him onto his back to get a better view.

"Okay, I need you to hold very still, baby. I'm gonna clean it."

Jonathan kept running his fingers through Clark's hair. "Deep breaths, son. Look at me. Deep breaths." Jonathan started taking deep breaths himself, making a show of each inhale and exhale.

Tears still ran down Clark's temples, but he kept his eyes on his father, and he matched his breaths.

Clark sucked in a breath and started to whine again when Martha dabbed hydrogen peroxide into the cut, but Jonathan pressed his hand a little harder into Clark's head and whispered, "No, no. Keep looking at me, son. Deep breaths."

Martha finished with the band aid and sat back. "Is that better?"

"No," Clark whispered, and he let out another sob.

Martha leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. "Do you want to play?"

"No."

Martha and Jonathan exchanged a glance—that was a first. Jonathan swallowed hard. "Do we need to go to the hospital?"

Clark wiped his eyes, though his wince was as deep as ever. "Okay."

"Uh . . . okay." Jonathan scooped Clark up into his arms. Even as they walked, he had no idea what he was going to tell a doctor. But if Clark really was dying, it was no use trying to keep his secret.

Jonathan's entire perspective on Clark shifted in his mind. His son _could_ be hurt. He could get sick, and he could bleed. Jonathan had hoped that there might come a day when he wouldn't have to worry about anyone finding out his secret, a day when he would become strong and invulnerable enough that no one could hurt him. Now, they could never be sure.

They loaded Clark up into the truck. Jonathan got into the driver's seat and placed Clark beside him. Clark wiped his eyes as Martha climbed into the passenger side and helped with his seatbelt.

"How are you feeling?"

"All better!" He grinned.

Jonathan blinked. " _All better?_ "

"Yes!" He reached down and peeled off the bandaid. "See?"

Jonathan glanced down and did a double take. Clark's knee was completely healed. No sign of any injury, other than a little dried blood.

Martha's jaw dropped, and she looked up at Jonathan. "What just happened?"

"I have _no_ idea." There was no way for them to find out, either. Jonathan let out his breath. "Let's go inside."

"Mommy, can we have cookies?" Clark asked.

She laughed and unbuckled his seatbelt, taking him into her arms. "As many as you want, sweetie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've received 2 requests here and 3 on FFN, so this story will get to at least chapter 11. Feel free to leave further requests as comments on chapter 6, but I'm still just going to do one per user.


	8. First Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For AmeliaEarheart123.

Jonathan ended up being thankful that he hadn't insisted on holding Clark back a year from starting school. Clark was clearly thrilled, and he talked about kindergarten incessantly the week before school started.

On the night before the first day of school, Clark wouldn't go to sleep. He jumped on his bed, literally bouncing off the ceiling, until Jonathan made a thoughtless, empty threat to make him wait another day to start school if he didn't behave and go to sleep. Clark shrank and crawled under the covers immediately, his wide blue-green eyes filling with tears as his lower lip trembled.

Jonathan couldn't imagine how his son would have reacted if they had told him to wait another year. He knelt down and kissed his son's forehead, and when Clark rolled over to sleep, Jonathan rubbed his shoulders until he calmed down enough that his breathing evened out.

Martha got up an hour earlier than she usually did on that first day to make breakfast. Jonathan finished up the morning chores faster than he normally would have as well. Clark woke up at the same time they did, and he could barely stand still long enough to change into his new clothes, let alone to sit at the table and eat breakfast. Martha took a few dozen pictures and wiped away a couple of tears. "He's so grown up," she kept saying.

Jonathan knelt down in front of Clark, who stood beside the door with his backpack and lunchbox. "Okay, son, what did we talk about?"

"Daaddy, I knoww."

"I know you do, but I want to hear it again."

"Do what the teacher says. Sit quiet 'n pay 'tension. Be nice to the other kids."

"And?"

Clark pouted. "And don't show anyone my powers."

"Are you going to pick up anything heavy?"

"No."

"And if someone asks if you want to race?"

"Let them win."

"Good boy." Jonathan tousled his hair. "What else do I always tell you?"

"I dunno."

"Every night before you go to bed, what do I tell you?"

Clark's little brow wrinkled. "Brush my teeth?"

Jonathan laughed. "I _love_ you."

"Oh! You love me!"

Jonathan pulled his son into his arms, backpack and lunchbox and all. "Yes I do."

"Love you too, Daddy."

Jonathan stood up. "I'll see you after school. You're going to tell me all about it, right?"

Clark's jaw dropped. "You're not taking me to school?"

"Mommy's going to take you."

"I want _you._ "

Jonathan glanced back at Martha, who shrugged. He sighed and looked down at Clark. "I have chores to do, Clark."

"But . . . Daddy . . ." Clark dropped his lunchbox and grabbed Jonathan's hand with both of his.

"What's wrong, son? Don't you want Mom to go with you?"

"Mommy stays with me all day. You _always_ do chores." He crossed his arms and pouted. "You like chores more than me."

" _Hey._ " Jonathan surprised himself with the sharpness of his voice. He took a deep breath. "I do not. Believe me, son, I'd much rather be with you than do chores all day."

"But . . . Please Daddy?"

Jonathan glanced back at Martha, who stepped forward and scooped Clark up into her arms. "Daddy's going to be here when you get back."

"But . . . but . . . what about the bad scientiss?"

Martha looked up at Jonathan with a bit of a glare. She hadn't exactly been happy when she found out that Jonathan had told Clark the truth about the dangers he faced. Jonathan was still convinced he'd done the right thing, even if it meant they returned to the nightmare phase for a little while.

"There are no bad scientists at school," Jonathan said.

"But you said I couldn't show anyone my powers."

"I know, but . . . I don't understand, son, you were so excited to go to school just a minute ago."

"I didn't know you weren't gonna take me!"

Martha winced, keeping her eyes on Jonathan. She mouthed, _He's scared._

Jonathan sighed. They'd talked about this a few times, usually after Clark was in bed. Martha could kiss and coddle away their baby's hurts and sadnesses, but when he was really scared, he needed his father.

"Okay, little guy, listen." Jonathan reached out and took Clark from his mother's arms. "Mom's going to do some of the chores this morning, and I'm going to take you to school. But this is just for the first day. Tomorrow, Mom's going to take you."

"Okay!"

Jonathan set Clark down. "Go kiss your mother good bye. We're gonna be late."

* * *

It had been a long time since Jonathan had been in a kindergarten classroom. A long time since he'd even seen one. The room was decked out in so many colorful decorations, it made his eyes hurt. Kids and parents—mostly moms—milled about the room, finding desks and cubbies and carpet squares.

Clark's eyes were wide, and his gaze kept flicking around the room. Jonathan held back a grimace. Martha had been right that they'd been sheltering him too much. He'd never been in a room with more than a few other people at a time, and he'd only ever met two other kids. He was overwhelmed.

But they couldn't hold him back. Jonathan could see that now. He was already the tallest kid in the room.

Jonathan grasped for something familiar he could point out. "Look, Clark, Lana's in your class."

Clark nodded, but his eyes were still wide. He had only played with Lana for a few minutes; he probably didn't know her well enough to find her presence much of a comfort in a sea of unfamiliarity.

"Hey." Jonathan reached down and took Clark's hand. "I'm here, little guy. For as long as you need me to be."

Clark nodded and squeezed Jonathan's hand so hard that Jonathan started to lose circulation in his fingers. He wouldn't be able to stay with his son every day, but Martha said it was typical for parents of kindergarteners to stick around for a bit on the first day of school.

A young woman in a long skirt and white blouse came over to meet them. She smiled down at Clark. "Good morning, young man. Are you starting school today?"

Clark nodded, but took a half step closer to Jonathan.

"What's your name?"

"Clark," he said softly.

"It's nice to meet you, Clark. I'm Miss Swanson. I'm going to be your teacher this year."

"Hi."

Miss Swanson smiled up at Jonathan before looking back to Clark. "Do you want to put your lunchbox over in your cubby? It has your name on it, and there's a hook underneath where you can put your backpack."

"Okay."

Jonathan walked him over to the wall with the cubbies and helped Clark find his name. Clark's eyes were still wide and wandering around the room. Jonathan put away his things, then glanced around the room with Clark.

That's when Pete and his mom came in.

Clark perked up suddenly. "Pete's in kindergarten too?"

"Of course. He's five, too." It suddenly occurred to Jonathan that they'd never actually told Clark that outright.

"Pete!" Clark ran across the room—at a speed typical for a five year old, thankfully—and to Jonathan's surprise, he actually threw his arms around Pete. Pete looked as relieved as Clark did.

Clark ran back to Jonathan and hugged him as well. "Bye Daddy!"

Jonathan blinked, squeezing his son for a moment before letting go. "Hang on, didn't you want me to stay for a little while?"

"Nope!"

"Okay, well can I help you—"

"Bye!"

"Maybe I should—"

"Bye Daddyyy!" Clark started to push him toward the door.

Jonathan stumbled back a little, then began to walk on his own. Clark followed him to the door. "Okay, okay. Mommy's gonna pick you up, is that okay?"

"Yes! Byyyye!" Clark waved.

Jonathan chuckled to himself all the way back to the truck.

And he'd been so worried.


	9. Being Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Gwen.

The first week of school passed without any incidents. Clark let Martha take him too and from school with no complaints, and he came home excitedly talking about the things he did with Pete. He usually didn't talk much about what happened in class, though Martha talked to Nell and said that was normal. Apparently, Lana never reported much about what actually happened in school, either.

On the first day of the second week, though, Jonathan was coming into the house for lunch and saw Martha speaking on the phone, her eyebrows knitted.

"But did he do it on purpose? . . . Well, was there any sort of fight? . . . Of course, I understand . . . we'll be right there."

She hung up, and Jonathan raised his eyebrows. "What's going on?"

"Clark pushed another boy on the playground. The other boy fell—"

"Is he alright?"

"He's fine. Just scraped up his elbow a little. The yard duty didn't see them arguing or fighting, but she said Clark pushed him too hard for it to have been an accident."

Jonathan let out his breath and hung his head. "Little guy got competitive."

"That's what it sounds like to me. I think you need to have a talk with him."

Jonathan would have been naive to think his days of having to reprimand his son were over, even if it had been awhile, but he still hated doing it. "I was just about to get started on afternoon chores. Think you can pick up the slack for me if I go pick him up?"

"Even if I couldn't—" Martha kissed him on the cheek— "our baby comes first."

Jonathan nodded and picked up his jacket. He paced his breathing and drove to the school, thinking about what he was going to say the whole way over.

He walked to the principal's office and found Clark sitting on a chair beside the secretary's desk. The secretary was tapping away at her keyboard and only glanced up briefly when Jonathan came in. Clark's head was lowered, and big tears streamed down both cheeks.

Jonathan cleared his throat, and the secretary looked up at him.

"Am I okay to take him home?" he asked.

"The principal already spoke with Mrs. Kent on the phone, so yes. You can take him."

Jonathan nodded and turned to Clark, kneeling down in front of his chair.

Clark cringed. "I'm sorry, Daddy! I'm sorry!"

Jonathan hoped to God whatever Clark had done had truly been an accident. Scolding was going to be impossible enough; he couldn't imagine having to actually _punish_ his child like this. "Let's talk about this when we get to the truck."

"Noooo! _I'm sorry!_ "

"Obey me, please." Jonathan kept his voice both gentle and firm, and he held out his hand, wondering if Martha should have been the one to come for their son.

Clark sniffled and placed his hand in his father's, and they walked out to the truck. Clark let out a few soft sobs on the way.

As soon as they were in the car, Clark curled up in the passenger seat, burying his face in his knees.

"Look at me, son."

" _I'm sorry!_ " Clark peeked one eye out to look at Jonathan.

"I'm not angry with you. I just want to know what happened."

"I was—" Clark pushed himself up to sit up straighter— "I was playing with Pete and Greg, and they wanted to race up the jungle gym, only I know I'm not s'posed to race, but I though I could let Pete win and just beat Greg, 'cause you said if I _had_ to race to just let them win most of the time, but I thought I pushed him lightly, but then he _fell_ and got _hurt_ and I'm _so so sorry Dad_ _dy,_ please don't—please—" Clark burst into tears again.

Jonathan frowned. Clark loved to please and didn't like to be in trouble, but he'd never seen Clark quite this afraid of him. He wasn't sure what Clark thought he was going to do. "Take a deep breath, little guy."

Clark took a couple of shallow breaths, but went back to sobbing within a few seconds.

Jonathan sighed. "You didn't do it on purpose."

"But I was _racing_. You said not to race."

"I know, I did." He realized that that was probably an unreasonable request to make of a five-year-old. Little boys raced. They wrestled, and they roughhoused. It was just what they did.

Clark couldn't avoid it forever, and Jonathan didn't want him to have to. He was a kid. Maybe Jonathan could practice with him, teach him the right amount of strength to use.

Right now, though, he was more concerned about why Clark was so afraid. "Son, what's got you so upset?"

"I—I wanna g-go to P-pete's birthday partyyy-yy," he sobbed.

"What party?"

Clark reached down into his backpack and pulled out a wrinkled envelope that had been ripped open. Jonathan took the card out of the envelope—it was an invitation to a party the following Sunday.

"You think I'm not gonna let you go?"

"P-pete said if I got in troub-ble y-you might not let me," Clark whimpered.

"Oh, come here, little guy." Jonathan pushed the driver's seat back and opened his arms.

Clark crawled into them. His hands clung to the front of Jonathan's shirt just like they did when he was upset as a toddler.

Jonathan gently rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head. "Son," he said softly, "if you'd pushed Greg on purpose, I probably would have kept you home from the party. But you didn't mean to hurt anyone. You tried to do what I asked. You just made a mistake."

"A-are the bad scientiss gonna find out?"

"No, they won't." Jonathan pulled in his son a little closer. Gentleness came naturally; he had to remind himself that he could embrace tightly without fear of harming his son, that a tighter embrace might be more comforting.

"G-greg was _b-bleedi-ing_ ," Clark sobbed.

"Oh, son." Jonathan adjusted him on his lap and wiped away his tears with his fingers, even though they were still coming. This had been a traumatic experience for Clark on so many levels. They needed to make sure this didn't happen again—not by making Clark scared of himself, but by giving him the confidence to know how to play with other kids at an appropriate level. "Greg is going to be okay. Kids trip and fall sometimes."

"Not me," he whispered.

"No, not you. But this weekend, I'm going to help you make sure this doesn't happen again, okay?"

Clark nodded and rubbed his eyes. "Okay."

Jonathan sat with Clark in his lap for a few more minutes before taking him back home. Clark was smiling shyly by the time he was home and his mother took him into her arms.

* * *

The next Saturday afternoon, Jonathan took Clark to the school playground. It was deserted, as he had hoped it would be.

He took Clark over to the jungle gym and told him to try climbing up as fast as he could, out of curiosity. It took Clark less than a second, and Jonathan frowned and came over to look at the bars—a couple were bent. Clark gasped and bent then back to the way they were before.

Jonathan suppressed a chuckle. "Okay, now try climbing as fast as you think your friends climb."

Clark did, and Jonathan was impressed. He looked just like an ordinary kid.

"Okay," he said. "Come on down."

Clark jumped to the tanbark.

" _Oh!_ No, son, your friends would get hurt if they jumped from that height."

"I know. I just did it because it's just you here."

Jonathan nodded. "Good thinking."

They went through each of the other play areas: the swings, the monkey bars, the basketball hoops, the dodge balls. Jonathan was impressed—in just the first week of school, Clark had managed to learn how to imitate how everyone else played. He was capable of swinging high enough that he looped over; his super speed worked for monkey bars; he could make any basket; he could throw a ball at any speed, to any height. But he played on the swings like a normal kid, he told Jonathan that he didn't do the monkey bars because most of the other kindergarteners couldn't, he missed most baskets on purpose, and he could throw a dodge ball lightly toward Jonathan. His aim was too good, but it didn't feel suspicious to Jonathan.

After that, Jonathan suggested they try a game of tag. Jonathan knew he himself would be a lot faster than a typical five-year-old, but his speed was closer to a five-year-old's than to Clark's. He was impressed by how long Clark stayed behind him before calling "Tag!"

Then Clark reached up and smacked him on the forearm. Hard enough that Jonathan had to clench his teeth to keep from shouting.

Jonathan didn't want to let on that he was hurt—Clark felt guilty enough about Greg. Instead, Jonathan slowed to a stop and knelt down in front of Clark. He held up a hand. "Try again. Tag me, a little gentler."

Clark gave him a high five. This time, it was light enough that it only stung mildly, but it would have hurt a five-year-old.

"Gentler."

Clark gave him a light tap.

" _There_ you go. You never touch _anyone_ any harder than that."

"Oh! Okay."

Jonathan tousled his hair. "Now, let's say one of your friends wants to wrestle."

"I'm not supposed to wrestle, right?"

"Okay, but if they do try to tackle you, you need to know how hard you can push back." Jonathan was probably never going to let him play sports competitively, but he couldn't keep him out of P.E., and playing in general was a part of being a kid. Not to mention if anyone ever tried to _bully_ Clark, he needed to know how much was appropriate to defend himself. "I want you to try to tackle me to the ground without hurting me."

Clark very, very gently started pushing on Jonathan's shoulders.

Jonathan pushed him back, and Clark didn't put up any resistance. "Hey, you can be a little stronger than that."

This time, Clark wiggled and squirmed a bit. He laughed as he did—he'd probably never played like this before.

Jonathan tried to mimic how strong he thought a five-year-old might be; it would have taken effort to push Clark down, but it wasn't impossible. Finally, he gave out and let Clark push him to the concrete. The motion was a little smoother than it should have been, but the amount of strength felt about right, and nothing seemed wildly out of the ordinary.

Jonathan jumped up and swept Clark into his arms, tickling him. Clark shrieked with laughter.

"Great job, little guy. How does ice cream sound?"

"Really?"

"Really."

" _Yay!_ " Clark wrapped his arms around his father and squeezed hard.

Jonathan gasped. "It's a little tight, buddy."

Clark loosened his grip. "Sorry."

Jonathan frowned—it had actually been comforting to feel his child's strength. "Um, you know what? It's a little tight for your other friends your age, but it's okay for me."

"Oh! Okay." Clark tightened his hold again, and Jonathan smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I've started posting a "sequel" of sorts to this story (though I'm hesitant to call it that because it's very AU, while this one is canon compliant). It takes place about a year after this story, when Clark is 6, but it adds 13-year-old Lex to the Kent family as a foster kid.


	10. School Bully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For BigRed67.

After Jonathan helped Clark learn how to gauge his strength better, and after the little guy proved he could handle himself at Pete's birthday party, Clark started inviting friends over to the farm more often. Usually it was just Pete, but he sometimes had Greg over, too. Martha tried having Nell and Lana visit from next door a few times, but for some reason, Clark had a tendency to shy away from Lana. Jonathan wasn't sure whether it was because of that horrible experience he'd had at their house—which they still didn't understand—or because Clark had a crush on her. Jonathan figured time would tell.

A month into the school year, Clark's teacher held parent teacher conferences. Jonathan and Martha drove to the school in silent anticipation, but the teacher said that he paid attention in class, he did his work, he made friends, and he was learning to read quickly. Jonathan's relief during the meeting was immeasurable—for the first time, he had hope that his son was going to be able to live a normal life.

After the meeting, Jonathan and Martha picked up Clark from the playground, where he was playing with the other kids who usually stayed for the after-school day care. Martha scooped him up into her arms and kissed him on the forehead. He wrinkled up his face, but then kissed her cheek.

"What did the teacher say?" Clark asked softly.

"That you've been very good," she said.

Clark let out his breath, and Martha chattered away about how proud she was, hugging and kissing him all the way to the truck.

Martha continued to talk all the way home, but Clark was oddly quiet. When Jonathan suggested stopping for ice cream, Clark just shrugged.

Jonathan raised his eyebrows and looked over at Martha, whose jaw had dropped. She gave Jonathan a meaningful look, and he nodded.

Jonathan took Clark out to the yard to work on chores for the afternoon. Jonathan showed Clark how to pull up weeds, and Clark quietly obeyed his instructions. Then Jonathan stood off to the side for a moment, watching him work. He had never seen his son so quiet.

"Hey." Jonathan crouched down beside where Clark was working. "What's on your mind, little guy?"

"I'm pulling weeds. You said to."

"You've been quiet. Is something bothering you?"

Clark shrugged.

Jonathan put a hand on his back, rubbing gently at first, then more firmly when he remembered he could. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Clark sniffed and sat back on the dirt. "Steve punched Justin yesterday. Twice."

Those weren't familiar names. Jonathan blinked a couple of times. "Are these boys in your class?"

"Justin is. Steve is a third grader."

Jonathan felt a bit sick to his stomach. "Did the teachers know about it?"

"Yeah. Justin was bleeding when he came back to class, and Miss Swanson made him tell."

"Did she help?"

"Justin got an ice pack and a band-aid. Steve got detention for a week."

"That's good." At least something had been done—Jonathan would have been much more concerned if the teachers didn't know, or if they had done nothing.

"It didn't help Justin! He still had to get punched!" Clark rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. "I could have stopped Steve."

"Clark, you know you're not supposed to show anyone your powers." It hurt Jonathan to say it. He could feel Clark's indignation, and he didn't blame his son one bit; Jonathan could feel himself becoming angry as well, though Clark's level of empathy was surprising, considering the little guy was only five.

Clark whimpered. "I know, but . . . Steve punched Justin, and Justin started crying, and Steve called him a baby and punched him _again_."

Jonathan could hear his own pulse in his ears. He thanked God that he didn't have the abilities Clark had—Jonathan would certainly have misused them in this kind of situation. "Are you afraid Steve is going to come after you?"

"No, I'm good at running away and hiding."

"Okay. You don't let anyone see your speed, do you?"

"No . . ." Clark's wide, round eyes looked up into Jonathan's.

Jonathan frowned—there was something else on Clark's mind. He'd said Steve punched Justin yesterday; maybe something had happened today. "What's wrong, son? Did Steve try to hurt you?"

Clark's eyes shone. "He tried to hurt _Pete_."

" _Oh_." Jonathan swallowed hard, afraid to ask. "Um . . . what happened?"

"I pushed Steve through a door. It broke."

For a moment, Jonathan felt like his chest was caving in. It was less than an hour ago that he'd started to hope Clark could have a normal life.

This was a part of having supernatural abilities that Jonathan hadn't really thought about. Every bully Clark encountered, he could stop, with little or no effort. But the risk of exposing himself, and the risk of hurting the bully more seriously than he had intended, would always haunt him. This was only the beginning, too. All too soon, Clark would learn that schoolyard bullies were the least of the world's evils. He'd have to choose his battles carefully; there would be times when he'd have to stand by and let things happen, watching injuries and maybe even deaths he could have prevented.

The weight of the responsibility of raising this child pressed upon Jonathan's shoulders. If he and Martha raised the boy right, he could be a hero. If they failed, he could be a tyrant. Jonathan knew that that should be his primary concern—the question of whether Clark became the hero or the villain. But Jonathan couldn't hold onto that concern. The images he'd impressed upon Clark—of test tubes and needles and scalpels and cages—flashed through Jonathan's mind and crippled him. He could only thing about his son's safety.

So even though it was wrong, Jonathan didn't ask about whether Steve was okay. He didn't even ask about Pete. The first thing Jonathan asked was, "Did anyone else see you do it?"

"Just Steve and Pete."

Jonathan nodded. He doubted Steve would tell anyone about it. A third grader wouldn't admit to having been beaten by a kindergartener, and if he did, he was unlikely to be believed. Served him right. Pete, on the other hand, might try to talk about what he'd seen. But Pete was five. He also probably wouldn't be taken seriously. "That's good."

"Daddy, are the bad scientiss gonna find out?" Clark's lower lip had begun to tremble.

"Come here, son." Jonathan sat beside Clark on the dirt and lifted the child onto his lap, holding him tightly against his chest and rocking a little. "I think you're safe this time. But you're going to need to be more careful in the future."

"But Pete was gonna get punched."

"I know." It was on the tip of Jonathan's tongue to tell his son he might have to let it happen next time, but he just couldn't get the words out. Instead, he just said, "But you still need to be more careful. We've talked about this, son."

"Okay, Daddy."

Jonathan held his son tighter. There was a massive difference between the way Clark had approached his father the last time he'd hurt someone, as compared to this time. The last time, he'd been a mess of shaking and sobbing, while this time, he was quiet and pensive—worried, but not an emotional wreck.

Jonathan suspected there were a lot of reasons for the gap in emotional response. One reason might be that Clark didn't feel as guilty about attacking Steve as he did about accidentally hurting Greg. His actions had also been intentional this time—he didn't feel afraid of himself, because he was in control of his strength. He'd known exactly what he was doing.

Another reason was that he hadn't been caught this time. If Clark's teacher hadn't mentioned it at the parent teacher conference, she probably didn't know. And of course, since there were no more birthday parties in the near future from which Jonathan might keep him home, Clark didn't fear any severe punishment from Jonathan. Regardless of his level of empathy, concern for himself was going to affect him strongly. He was still only five.

But Jonathan hoped there was more to it than that. The last time Clark had approached Jonathan with an incident like this, Clark had been uncertain of their ability to get through it as a family, insecure of his father's forgiveness for having misused his abilities. Jonathan hoped Clark had more confidence now, and Jonathan had to prove to him that his confidence wasn't misplaced.

Clark squirmed a little in Jonathan's arms. "Daddy, am I in trouble?"

Jonathan winced and held his son a little tighter. Letting this go completely would send the wrong message. "Just a little bit. We're going to go inside, and you're going to sit in your room for a few minutes to think about how you can be more careful next time."

"Sorry." A couple of quiet sobs shook his little body.

Jonathan's eyes stung, but he kept his voice firm. "Let's go in."

He carried his son up to his room, where he placed him on his bed. Clark grabbed onto his pillow and buried his face, and Jonathan left him to think while he walked down to the kitchen.

Martha walked over to him from the stove as soon as she saw him coming down. "What's going on?"

Such a mix of emotions had overcome Jonathan while talking to Clark that he was surprised by the one that arose as he breathed in to tell Martha the story. Such powerful pride filled him that he felt ready to burst. "A school bully tried to harass Pete. Clark shoved the bully through a door so hard it broke."

Martha gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. "Is everyone okay?"

"Everyone's okay. He's on time-out for not being careful with his powers."

"For hurting the bully?"

"Uh . . . yeah." Jonathan supposed he hadn't really addressed that part of it with Clark. There were so many nuances to the situation, and Jonathan had wanted to keep things as simple as possible. Of course, now, he was going to make it more complicated. He had to impress upon Clark the seriousness of risking someone seeing his powers, but he also wanted to recognize his bravery and compassion for his friend.

"Well, that's an important lesson for him to learn."

"I know, but it broke my heart to send him to his room. It was a tough day for him, Martha."

"Well, bring him down when you're ready to let him out. We can make cookies."

Clark was sitting up on his bed when Jonathan arrived, his favorite blanket wrapped around himself. His eyes were big and shiny. "Can I come out of time-out now?"

"Almost." Jonathan sat down next to him on the bed. "What did you learn?"

"I have to be more careful."

"Why do you need to be more careful?"

"Because I can't let anyone see my powers. 'Cause the bad scientiss will find out."

"Good boy." Jonathan took Clark's little hand in his. "Son, I'm proud of you."

"Why?"

"Because even though you did the wrong thing today, and you weren't careful enough, you were a good friend to Pete."

Clark smiled. "Pete didn't have to get punched."

"That's exactly right." Jonathan tousled his hair and kissed his forehead. "And that's why you have to be careful. If the bad scientists take you away, there will be no one left to help Pete."

" _Oh_." Clark nodded.

"Do you understand?"

"Yeah. I have to be sneaky to help people."

That was good enough for Jonathan. He scooped up Clark into his arms and headed out of his room. "Right now, Mom needs you to help _her_ with something. But you don't have to be sneaky about it."

"What?"

"She needs your help making cookies."

Clark bounced a little in Jonathan's arms. "I can help! I'm the _best_ helper!"

Jonathan gave his son an extra squeeze before setting him down. "I know you are, little guy," he said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I think when Pete told this story in the show, he said it happened when they were in first grade, but eh, kindergarten's close enough.


	11. Red Pebbles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Morghana.

For a few weeks every autumn, during the harvest, Jonathan was not only unable to invest as much time as he wanted into his family—he was unable to give them any time at all. The little time he did spend with Clark and Martha was mostly while doing chores. So as soon as things started to slow down, Martha made a point in setting up an evening play date with Clark and Pete at the Ross's house, so that she and Jonathan could go on a much-needed date. This would be their first dinner out alone in years. And the afternoon before their dinner out, Jonathan spent some time with Clark.

He took him on a walk out to the creek, letting him jump in piles of fallen leaves and splash in puddles before meandering along the side of the rushing water. One nice thing about parenting Clark was that Jonathan didn't feel the need to warn his son against getting too close to the water. He didn't have to fear that Clark would trip and get himself scraped up, and he never worried the boy might fall into the water and drown.

Clark bent down and picked something up from the side of the water. "Look, Daddy! This one's shiny!" He held up a smooth little grey rock.

Jonathan smiled. His eyes skimmed along the edge of the water—some different colors of rocks caught his eye. He walked forward a few steps and picked up a couple of green rocks, taking them back to Clark and holding them out. "Look at these ones."

Clark wrinkled his nose and took a step back. "I don't like those ones."

Jonathan shrugged. Five-year-olds could be so opinionated. He tossed the rocks into the water.

Clark sped ahead—a little faster than Jonathan would have allowed if there was anyone watching, but they were alone—and picked up a handful of bright red rocks. "Look at _these!_ "

"Those are neat."

"They're my favoritest."

Jonathan chuckled. "Well, do you want to take some home?"

"Yes!" He picked up a few of the rocks and stuffed them in his pocket.

Something about that small action seemed to bring out an energy in him that Jonathan had never seen before. He started leaping from one boulder to the next, crossing the creek and coming back again.

Even knowing Clark couldn't be injured, Jonathan couldn't help calling out, "Hey, be careful."

"I don't _have_ to be." Clark laughed.

Jonathan considered chiding the boy for contradicting him, but it wasn't important enough. He could choose his battles. This was precious time with his son. "I guess that's true," he said.

* * *

When they got back to the house, Jonathan sat down with Clark for a minute while Martha was finishing up making Clark something to eat before going over to the Ross house. Clark had his little red pebbles on the table, and he was stacking them up into little piles and knocking them down.

"I like these," he said. "I'm gonna show Pete."

"That's fine," Jonathan said. "Now, look at me."

Clark sighed heavily and scooped up the rocks, putting them in his pocket.

"Son, you're going to be well behaved at Pete's house and do everything Mr. and Mrs. Ross tell you to, right?"

For the first time Jonathan had ever seen, he rolled his eyes. "You _always_ give this speech."

Jonathan raised his eyebrows. "You wanna try that again, without the attitude?"

Clark's voice softened a bit. "I won't show anyone my secrets, okay?"

Jonathan tousled his hair, choosing to let it go for the time being. "I know you won't."

"So I can have cookies, right?" Clark raced over to the kitchen at full speed—he was little more than a blur—and climbed up onto the counter to grab the cookie jar.

"Hey." Martha put down the spoon she'd been using to dish up his dinner and took Clark's arm. "Dinner first."

Clark grinned. "I'll just eat these for dinner."

"No, you won't." She snatched the cookie jar from him. "You need something healthy. We have leftover casserole from last night."

"Eww. You're not good at making casserole." Clark jumped off the counter and raced over to foot of the stairs.

"Clark!" Martha's voice caught.

Jonathan stood from the table and called after him, "Clark, you come right back over here and apologize to your mother."

"Why?"

"Because you hurt her feelings."

"That's not my fault. She's the one who made gross casserole."

Jonathan felt his pulse in his ears. He had anticipating possibly having to deal with this kind of behavior when Clark was a teenager, but he had _not_ expected to have to deal with it from a five-year-old. "That's enough. No more cookies for the rest of today. If you don't come apologize to your mother now, you won't have any tomorrow, either."

Clark giggled. "You can't _stop_ me. I'm fast!"

Jonathan and Martha exchanged a glance— _that_ was new.

"Clark," Martha said, "go up to your room and get a jacket. We're leaving for your playdate."

"I don't get cold," Clark said.

Jonathan crossed his arms. "I've had _enough_ of your arguing. Do as your mother says."

" _Fiiine_." Clark trudged up the stairs, clicking together the rocks in his pocket all the way up.

Shaking his head, Jonathan turned over to Martha. "Is he acting up because I've been so busy?"

Martha frowned at the staircase. "No, I don't think so. This is the first I've seen him act like this."

"Well, he'd better figure it out," Jonathan said. "No son of mine is allowed to treat his mother this way."

Martha stepped into Jonathan's arms, and he wrapped his around her. He'd forced his voice to sound firm and confident, but when it came down to it, he had no idea how he was going to handle his son's newfound rebellious streak.

* * *

When Martha and Jonathan came by to pick up Clark, he was jumping on Pete's bed. Abigail Ross claimed that everything had been alright during Clark's visit, but she looked frazzled and she was out of breath and sweating a little, and they were barely out of the door when they heard her starting to scold Pete.

Jonathan waited until they got in the car to begin with Clark. "Clark, did you do everything Mrs. Ross asked you to do tonight?"

"Maybe," he said. "I wasn't really listening to her."

"Were you supposed to be jumping on the bed?"

"It was _fun_." Clark stood up on the backseat of the truck and bounced.

"Sit down and put your seatbelt back on," Martha said.

"No, I don't wanna."

"Do as your mother says,"

"No."

"Clark," Jonathan warned, angling the rearview mirror to look at his son. "I've had it with this behavior."

Clark wrinkled his nose. "You're bein' dumb."

"Do you want your hand slapped?" Jonathan barely refrained from wincing as he made the threat.

"I don't care. It doesn't hurt."

Jonathan had no idea what to say to that.

They failed to get Clark to go to bed that night. He sped away whenever any of them came near him; he wiggled away the one time Jonathan did manage to catch him, wrenching Jonathan's arm painfully in the process. For the first time, though, when Jonathan told Clark that he had hurt him with his strength, Clark didn't show any remorse. He just said a quick, "Sorry!" and went back to running around the house.

At one in the morning, Jonathan told Martha to go ahead and go to bed. Jonathan stayed up to try to get his son down—chasing after him, imploring him, begging, threatening, bribing, appealing to reason and empathy and affection and anything else he could think of, even shedding tears once or twice. Clark just kept laughing and running away.

Finally, at three in the morning, Jonathan gave up. He went to bed. When he trudged up the stairs, he left Clark jumping on the couch in the living room, a half-eaten cookie in each hand.

* * *

Jonathan woke after less than three hours of sleep with an aching back and neck and heavy eyelids. He stepped down into the living room to find Clark drowsily laying on his stomach in the living room. He had those little red pebbles out in front of him, and he was rolling them into each other as if they were marbles.

Taking a deep breath, Jonathan came to stand over Clark. "You're going to put those away and go to bed. Now."

"No."

Jonathan was _done_ with this. In one motion, he scooped up the handful of rocks in one hand and lifted Clark up onto his shoulder with the other arm.

" _Hey!_ "

Jonathan didn't know exactly what he was doing. He just knew that for a short time, he had an advantage—his son was exhausted. He walked out of the house and headed toward the barn.

Clark slammed a hand into Jonathan's back.

Jonathan sucked in a breath through his teeth, but managed to keep from stumbling. "Clark, that is _not_ okay."

"Give me my rocks!"

"No."

" _Daaaad!_ "

"You know you're not supposed to hit people."

"But they're my rocks!"

"I don't _care_." Jonathan acted on impulse—he shifted Clark on his shoulder and threw the rocks away from himself as hard as he could.

Clark was silent. He struggled weakly for a few seconds.

Then he erupted into tears.

Jonathan could have kicked himself. No matter how Clark had behaved, this was _not_ the kind of parent he wanted to be.

Once they were in the barn, he let Clark down and placed him down on a hay bale, kneeling in front of the boy. "Son."

" _I'm sorry Daddy_."

Jonathan blinked. Somehow, he had finally gotten through to his son. He was in such uncharted waters, he had to take any opportunity he could to speak to the child. "You've been very disrespectful these past couple of days. You hurt Mom's feelings and you wouldn't apologize, you disobeyed us over and over, you misbehaved at the Ross house, you broke the rules about bedtime and about eating dessert before dinner, and you hit me."

Clark's eyes widened with each offense Jonathan listed, his jaw dropping. It was almost surreal, as if Clark hadn't realized what he was doing until just now. "That was _really bad!_ "

Jonathan frowned. "What do you think we should do?"

Clark's lower lip trembled, then he tucked his face into the crook of one elbow and held the other hand out to his father, palm down. His face scrunched up in a deep wince, and his shoulders shook.

Jonathan swallowed hard—somehow, the guilt must have been shredding the boy. Still, he couldn't help but say, "Thought you said that doesn't hurt."

"It hurts my _heart. So bad._ " Clark said into his arm, keeping his hand held out.

"Oh, little guy." Jonathan made a silent vow to himself never to threaten his son in that way again—it had far too great an effect on the child, even if the effect was delayed. He took the little hand offered to him and kissed it, then wrapped it in both of his own. "Let me put it a different way. What do you think _you_ should do?"

Clark sniffled and took his arm away from his face. "Say sorry to Mommy and make her a picture?"

"I think that's a good start." Jonathan gently stroked the back of his son's fingers with his thumb. "How about for Mrs. Ross?"

"Say sorry too?"

Jonathan nodded. "I'm going to take you over there later today to apologize, but you're not going to get to play with Pete or have any cookies this weekend."

"Aww." Clark looked down. "But can I have my rocks back?"

"Do you think you should get them back?"

Clark wiped at his eyes. "No."

Jonathan ran a hand through his son's hair. He felt bad about that part, but even if he wanted to cave and give Clark his rocks back, he wasn't going to be able to find them again.

"I'm sorry." Clark yawned.

"You're also going to take a nap."

Clark held up both arms, and Jonathan lifted him, cradling him gently against his chest and walking back toward the house.

The whole situation had been strange, to say the least. One moment, Clark had been a perfectly sweet, happy kid; the next, a spoiled little tyrant. Then, less than twenty-four hours later, back to his usual, good-natured self. Jonathan had to wonder if he'd eaten something that had disagreed with him, somehow, or if he was going through some kind of alien mood swings.

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"I did really, really bad stuff."

"I know." Jonathan rubbed the boy's back as he walked. After the night they'd had, part of Jonathan felt like Clark was getting off awfully easy. Jonathan's instinct was to pile on punishments, forcing the boy to feel the full weight of his wrongdoing, but for some reason, he didn't need to—Clark understood. Besides, he was all of five years old, and he was usually an _exceptionally_ good kid. He was entitled to a bad day every now and then. A few natural consequences of his actions would be more than enough to nudge him back on the right track. "I forgive you."

"Are you mad?"

"No, I'm not."

It was quiet for a moment before Clark asked, in a small voice, "Do you still love me?"

Jonathan tightened his grip. "I love you very, very much, little guy. I always will."

"I love you too, Daddy." His soft, damp cheek rested on Jonathan's shoulder, and his breathing evened out.


	12. Adopted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a couple of guest reviews here that requested more, scattered across the chapters (requests are supposed to be on chapter 6), but I'm gonna count those as one request.

A few months into the school year, Clark's report card arrived in the mail. Jonathan was a little nervous about what Clark's teacher would say—it could be so difficult to know what to expect—but the report was good. The teacher had evidently forgotten, or at least forgiven, the earlier "violent" incidents, and she had only good things to say about Clark.

Jonathan was thankful for that. He wouldn't have disciplined his son for low marks—not that they assigned letter grades in kindergarten—but he would have had to punish him if his teacher had written about any misbehavior. The day after Clark had misbehaved at Abigail Ross's house, Jonathan had made it very clear to him that if he was ever so disrespectful again, to any adult or to anyone, he would spend a whole weekend doing all of his least favorite chores, after a long talk with his parents. Clark seemed to have taken that seriously, though he actually seemed to be more worried about the talk than the chores.

Between the positive remarks from his teacher and the reading and writing scores, Martha was over the moon. She picked up her little boy and covered him in kisses and praises. Normally, he would be screaming with laughter, with tears streaming down his cheeks. Today, though, he gave a very slight smile, but actually winced a little while she was kissing him, and looked away while she told him about how much she loved him.

Jonathan frowned as Martha put him down. Clark had been oddly quiet ever since he'd gotten home from school. He'd done his chores, but spent most of the rest of the evening in his room.

"Hey, I have an idea," Jonathan said. "What if we all go out for ice cream to celebrate?" If Clark needed cheering up, it might have that effect; if there was something on his mind, he might be more willing to open up over a hot fudge sundae.

But to Jonathan's surprise, Clark just shrugged.

Jonathan sat down at a chair at the dining room table and lifted Clark onto his lap. "What's on your mind, son?"

"That."

Jonathan glanced up at Martha, who shrugged and took a seat next to him. "Which part?"

"Son." Clark shifted his weight on Jonathan's lap. "Some boys at school said I'm not your son, and you're not really my parents."

" _Who_ said that?"

Clark flinched, and Jonathan instantly regretted his tone. He could deal with that part later. Right now, he needed to reassure his son.

Jonathan exchanged a glance with Martha. They'd talked about this at length. Neither of them wanted to keep the adoption a secret from Clark by any means, but it was also difficult to bring up, since they couldn't answer any of his questions about the circumstances surrounding the adoption. Despite having had years to think about this, Jonathan didn't know exactly how to address the question Clark was asking. He supposed he had to tell the story as though it had been a normal adoption, but it would be tough to backpedal from that when the time came to take Clark down to the storm cellar.

Martha spoke up instead. "What does that mean, sweetheart?"

"What?"

"What does it mean to really be our son?"

"It means . . ." Clark frowned. "I don't know! It means you're my real parents, like their parents are their real parents. But those boys said you're not."

"Yeah?" She reached across to take Clark's hand in hers. "What do parents do? What's a Mommy and Daddy's job?"

"Take care of their kids."

"Uh huh." She nodded.

"And . . . give them food and take them to school."

"Yeah. What else?"

"Tuck them in and read them stories."

Martha reached over and hugged Clark. "How about giving hugs and kisses?"

"Yeah." Clark smiled just a bit wider this time.

Jonathan cleared his throat. "How about teaching them right and wrong?"

Clark wrinkled his nose. "I don't like that part."

Martha and Jonathan laughed—Jonathan didn't always like that part, either.

"So," Martha said, "do we take care of you and love you and teach you?"

"Yes."

"Then, we're your real parents."

"But those boys said you're _not_."

Jonathan wanted a private word with those boys' parents, but once again, Martha spoke before he could: "Why do they think you're not our son?"

"They said I wasn't in Mom's tummy."

"Why does that matter?"

Clark looked down and shrugged. "They said it does."

Jonathan took Clark's hand in his. "Clark, you were adopted. Do you know what that means?"

Clark shook his head.

"Sometimes, a couple can't take care of a baby when they're born. It's not the baby's fault, it's . . . for grown-up reasons. But then another couple can adopt the baby, and they become their real parents."

"I was in another lady's tummy?"

Jonathan nodded. "She's your birth mother."

"What did she look like?"

Jonathan looked over at Martha, who said, "She probably looked a lot like you. I bet she was really pretty."

"Hey, look at me, son," Jonathan waited until Clark's eyes met his, and he found himself getting choked up as he spoke. "Adopting you was the best decision we ever made. We love you so much, and you're our son, no matter what anyone says." He was definitely going to have a talk with Clark's teacher, too. He didn't know how those rumors had gotten started, but if the kids weren't being educated about adoption at home, maybe the school could help assist where the parents had failed.

Clark nodded, then turned to Martha. "Even though I was never in your tummy?"

She took his other hand. "You were never in my tummy, but you're in my heart."

Finally, he smiled widely.

Jonathan kissed his forehead and tousled his hair, then he stood up, lifting the boy from his lap into his arms as he did. "Ice cream?" he said.

"Okay, Daddy," he said, and he wrapped his arms around Jonathan's neck, nuzzling his head into his shoulder and putting just a little bit too much strength into the embrace, like he always did.


	13. Valentine's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For SenseiGrace

Clark went through phases. Jonathan had read enough to know that it was normal, nothing to be concerned about.

Clark had a space phase, where he recited random facts about all of the planets to anyone who would listen—Jonathan was thankful he'd never told his son he was an alien, or that phase might have been complicated. He had an airplane phase, during which he checked out stacks of books on planes from the library and folded so many paper airplanes that it was becoming a struggle to sneak them away to the recycling center just due to sheer volume. He had a bug phase, which Martha hated, where he'd bring in little critters he found around the farm and let them crawl around on the dining room table. Most recent was his dinosaur phase, which consisted of him drawing dinosaurs and, occasionally, acting like them.

So when Clark started coming home from school talking about Lana, his cheeks turning a little pink every time he did, Jonathan wondered if it was another phase. If it was, though, it was lasting a long time. It started at the end of his bug phase, went straight through the planes, and showed no signs of stopping, straight on through his obsession with dinosaurs.

Jonathan wondered how it would play out around Valentine's Day. He trusted that Martha would have it in hand, but to his dismay, she informed him that he was going to be the one who attended the school party and helped with the kids.

"Why me?" Jonathan asked, his insides squirming a little. "Isn't that more . . . you know, for the moms?"

"Excuse me?" Martha crossed her arms.

He backpedaled. "No, no, it's just . . . you're so much better with this kind of thing. And _Valentine's Day_ . . ."

"I have a lunch date with Nell Potter. I've had it in the family calendar for a month, haven't you looked?"

"Of course I have." That was a half truth, since he'd skimmed it; it wasn't technically a lie.

"I took him to the Halloween parade, the Thanksgiving banquet, the Christmas party, the New Year's countdown, and the MLK day celebration. It's your turn."

Jonathan had missed that there even _was_ a MLK day celebration at Clark's school. He swallowed hard. "I can take him. But . . ."

"But what?"

"I'm, ah, not sure . . . not sure he'll want me to go. He might want you."

Martha shrugged and took the few steps out of the kitchen, glancing over into the living room, where Clark sat playing with a couple of plastic dinosaurs. "Clark?"

"Yeah, Mommy?"

"Do you want Daddy to take you to the Valentine's Day party?"

He dropped the dinosaurs and rocketed a couple of feet into the air. "YAYYY!" he shouted, and he launched himself into Jonathan's arms, causing Jonathan to grunt with the sudden force. "Yay, yay, yaaaayyy!"

So that settled it.

* * *

Money was tight that year, in part thanks to the destructive force that had been Clark's early tantrums—though Martha and Jonathan agreed they would never, ever let him know that. Unfortunately, it did mean that store-bought Valentine's weren't an option.

Jonathan was impressed—Martha managed to phrase it to Clark in such a way that he actually seemed excited about making his own Valentine's by hand, and she also offered to make cupcakes for his class. He hovered beside her as she frosted them. "Can you put dinosaurs on them?" he asked.

"I'm not sure I know how to make a dinosaur with frosting."

"But _Mom—_ "

"I can do hearts?"

"But hearts aren't _cool_."

Jonathan cleared his throat. "But Valentine's Day isn't about dinosaurs, son."

"I _knoww_." Clark pouted.

Martha frowned and tipped Clark's chin up a bit. "Which do you think Lana would like better on the cupcakes?"

"Dinosaurs."

"Really?"

"Dinosaurs are _cool._ "

Jonathan stifled a laugh—it had been a good try on Martha's part.

"Well, tell you what," she said. "I'll dye the frosting green, and we can say they're dinosaur hearts. How is that?"

Clark nodded emphatically.

Since his dad was going to be attending the party with him, he wouldn't accept his mom's help with the Valentine's. Jonathan ended up having to trade some chores with Martha the day before the party and work indoors more, because Clark kept calling him over to ask him questions every few minutes. He'd brought home a list of the names of students in his class, and he set to work drawing dinosaurs for each of them and writing their names.

He paused when he had checked off every name on the list but one. "Daddy! I need help!"

Jonathan sighed and put down the laundry basket to come over and sit across from Clark. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know how to make Lana's card."

 _Ah_. Jonathan should have suspected this might be a challenge. "You really like her, don't you?"

Clark nodded, his cheeks turning pink.

"Well, just tell her how you feel."

"How I feel?"

"Yeah. You want to be honest with her, but you don't want to overwhelm her. You know, let her know what she means to you, but . . . you don't want to come on too strong."

Clark's brow furrowed. "How do I do that?"

"Well, think about how you feel when she's around. Be honest, and be brave, but you don't want to say too much all at once. If she feels the same way about you, you'll have plenty of time to tell her more. Right now, it's probably best if you make friends with her."

Clark nodded. "Okay, Daddy."

He looked back down at his paper, scrunched up his face, and wrote very carefully. He worked for a solid half an hour on the one card. When he looked up, he smiled. "Done!"

"Can I see it?"

Clark shook his head. "Noo, it's a _secret_."

Jonathan sighed. "Fine. Go put your crayons away."

"Okay."

While Clark was up in his room, Jonathan couldn't resist sneaking a peak at the card. It was just a picture of a dinosaur, with five words:

_LANA_

_I LIK YOU_

_CLARK_

Jonathan's heart swelled. It was perfect.

* * *

The classroom was decked out with pink and white balloons and streamers. Kids walked from desk to desk delivering their pre-printed Valentines and candy. Clark passed out the green heart cupcakes—they were the only thing in the classroom that didn't match the color scheme.

Jonathan was the only dad there. He smiled and nodded to some of the moms, but he felt incredibly out of place.

Clark didn't think so. He kept running back to Jonathan and showing him individual Valentines he'd received from other students. Jonathan smiled and nodded each time, and pushed him to finish giving out his own cards to the other kids, since he was running behind. When he was down to just Lana's card, he came back to Jonathan and buried his head in his dad's side.

Jonathan knelt down, putting a hand on Clark's little shoulder. "What's wrong, son?"

"I don't want to give it to her," he whispered.

"Why not?"

"I just don't."

Jonathan squeezed the boy's shoulder—he couldn't blame him for being nervous, but he didn't want Clark to get in the habit of running away from his fears, either. "Well, if you don't give it to her, she'll have a Valentine from everyone except you. And then she might think you _don't_ like her."

"Oh no!"

"So go put it on her desk."

Clark shook his head, pulling away.

"Clark—"

"What if other kids see it?"

"Well, maybe you should give it to her instead of putting it on her desk."

"You mean _talk_ to her?"

"You don't have to talk. You could just hand it to her." Jonathan had just assumed they were friends and talked to each other; he hadn't realized this was the type of crush where Clark avoided ever going near her.

Clark took a deep breath. "Okay Daddy." He picked up the last card and handed Jonathan his basket, then went over to Lana, clutching the card in both hands.

Lana was delivering her last few cards when Clark approached her. She smiled sweetly. "Hi, Clark!"

Clark's hold on the card tightened, and his face scrunched up. His skin almost seemed to turn green, and he whimpered and dropped the card.

Lana took a step back. "Are you okay?"

Clark ran back to his dad, leaping into his arms.

Jonathan picked him up. "What's wrong, son?"

"My tummy hurts and my skin is all crawly and it hurts."

"I see." Jonathan smiled to himself and rubbed the boy's back. "Your heart is beating really fast?"

Clark nodded.

"You feel sweaty?"

"Yeah." Clark buried his face in Jonathan's shoulder.

Jonathan rocked him gently and kissed the side of his head. The kid was deeper in love than Jonathan had realized.

While Jonathan waited for Clark's shaking to calm, he glanced up at Lana, who was worriedly watching Clark. She looked down at her feet, where the card had fallen. It was wrinkled and torn in places from Clark gripping it, but she opened the card, squinted at the words—she seemed to be sounding them out.

Her cheeks turned pink, and she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand, that's the last one I have a request for! If you're wanting to read more, though, and if you haven't requested already, you're still free to leave a request as a comment on chapter 6, and I'll think of something :)
> 
> Also, if you enjoy cute Clark, I would encourage you to check out chapter 1 of "Moments in Time." It's 6-year-old Clark trying (and failing miserably) to bake a birthday cake.


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